


impasto

by tinyduck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Daichi being smarter than everyone else as always, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Strangers to Lovers, Suga being chaotic and oblivious, my second haikyuu love, suga is the sweetest and i would smooch him within an inch of his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyduck/pseuds/tinyduck
Summary: A chance encounter reminds Sugawara that in spite of his many, many (many) years walking the earth, fate and the universe always have a funny way of bringing him exactly what he needs when he least expects it.
Relationships: Sugawara Koushi/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	impasto

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the **HQHQ SFW collab** with the prompt _mythology_ , and it’s very loosely based off the story of Eros and Psyche! I put a lil link at the end if anybody’s unfamiliar with it 🤗.
> 
> Surprising everyone, I can sometimes write fluff! Don’t get used to it.

“How many peaches do you want?”

Koushi doesn’t want any peaches.

“Four, please.”

“Alright, you got it!”

Koushi doesn’t need any peaches.

“Here you go, sweetheart. That’ll be 300¥.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_! Stop by anytime!”

Koushi doesn’t eat peaches—well, he doesn’t need to eat anything at all, if he’s being honest. Still, he accepts the plastic bag of fruit with an easy smile, nodding politely to the woman running the stand. He pauses under the pretense of putting his change away, his pretty hazel eyes peeking at the vendor, at her red and white gingham visor, the dark green apron she has on, the friendly smile she wears as she greets another customer, laugh lines and crow’s feet crinkling across her face.

Glancing behind him his smile grows coy when he sees the owner of the vegetable stand two stalls down standing nervously behind a few customers, a small box of produce in his arms. Vibrant cabbages bloom from the top, a bundle of scrubbed carrots, ruby red tomatoes, and perfectly trimmed leeks (not a leaf out of place) accompanying them. It’s been put together with care and diligence, with a dedication that speaks to infatuation and the need to impress.

_Perfect_.

Casually, he steps to the side, fighting to hide his smile at the way the man is almost sweating bullets as he creeps closer and closer. Pulling the arrow from thin air is as easy as breathing at this point, the collection of sunlight and the warm summer breeze coming to life with a tap of a slender finger to his lips. It’s thin and golden, glowing with a brilliance only he can see, shimmering and trembling like it’s alive. It flutters in midair without any fletching, borne aloft by his breath and voice as he sends it on its way. It sings through the air, flying to hit its mark. It connects right as they meet face to face and Koushi turns on his heel, chuckling lightly at the twin flushes gracing both their cheeks.

_Absolutely perfect_.

He cradles the peaches against his chest as he makes his way home, careful not to bruise their delicate flesh as he admires the way they blush from pink to white so sweetly. He almost feels a little bad cutting into them, slicing the shallowest x along the bottom before dropping them in a pot of boiling water. While he waits for them to blanch, he hums and taps his fingers, eyeing the clean jars lined up on his counter, a stainless silver funnel perched in the very first one.

Making the syrup is familiar, soothing; one of the many talents he’s picked up over the many millennia he’s lived, one of the few he’s kept as the years flit past. It’s a few shades too dark to pass for ambrosia and it lacks the nuance that comes from the precious, liquid gold he’d used to drink on Olympus, but the sugary scent and the nuggets of tender fruit offer a different sort of comfort, fulfill a different kind of need. He dips a spoon into a jar and licks it clean, humming with satisfaction as he watches steam billow upward.

When the jars are cooled and sealed, he nestles one in the crook of his arm, the ostentatious orange gingham tied around the lid with a cream-coloured bow only there to make Daichi groan and reluctantly accept the gift as Suga says with an amused bat of his eyelids, _“I made this just for you, senpai!”_ It’s all about finding humour in and enjoying the little things, he’s sure of it; that’s how he survives and passes through the slow current of boredom that eddies around him with every passing year. That’s how he ignores the aching feeling of something missing, something lost to time and memory that he can’t quite put his finger on.

He’s so lost in thought standing at his front door that it takes him a moment to register the sight before him when he turns, his eyebrows rising as he watches the large bouquets of apricot and lavender roses bobbing up the stairs, one careful step at a time.

“You need a hand?” He tries to peek around them, and is so close to assuming he’s just speaking to a sentient rosebush when your head pokes out to the side, your fingers slipping along the bottom of the box.

“Oh, no, I’m okay I’m just—” You jostle the box a little higher with your knee, wobbling dangerously on the stairs and wincing when a few thorns slide along your cheek. “Just…um…” The box slips a little more out of your grasp and Koushi laughs, setting his jar carefully on the ledge to slip a steady hand beneath the box and gently pry it from your hands.

“Mm, yeah, I’m sure you’re fine, but just in case you aren’t…” He has to fight the urge to bury his face into the flowers, to feel their velvety petals tickle his cheek as he smiles at you.

“Thank you,” you manage to stammer out, frazzled by the amused and pretty way he’s looking at you as you fumble for your keys, swearing under your breath when they tangle on something in your pocket. “Oh, sorry just hang on—”

“You good?”

“Yeah, I just—” It happens in slow motion. You yank a little too hard, your elbow overshoots a little too far, and the jar of peach syrup, golden and luminescent, catches the light along its edge as it teeters on the ledge for a good two seconds, just long enough for you to swipe desperately after it only to miss and watch it tumble to the ground. It shatters, spilling ichor across the tiled floor as you gasp and look guiltily at Koushi. “I’m so _sorry—_ ”

“Hey, it’s all good.” He smiles soothingly at you, but it does little to ease the worry creasing your forehead as you continue to babble apologies. “Really, it’s fine. I’ve got a whole bunch of extras.”

Your frown stays, stubborn and soft as you skirt around the sticky puddle, your keys jangling sadly from your hand as he hoists your box a little higher. “I’ll clean it up at least.”

“It’s—” His _okay_ dies on his tongue when your door swings open, his pretty hazel eyes widening at the sight that greets him. The warm, orange sun filters past the sheer white curtains that drape across your windows, burnishing your walls, your furniture, the silver hardware in your kitchen. That’s not what catches his eye, however. It’s the bundles of dried flowers that cover your ceiling, clothes-pins neatly spaced apart like little birds on telephone wires, clinging onto their bounty.

“Sorry, I know it’s kind of a mess.” You seem flustered as you gesture towards the counter, fidgeting at the way he’s still staring at the flowers, eyes bright, mouth slightly agape.

“No, it’s not it’s—” He has to take a moment, setting down the box as an afterthought if only to graze the edge of a few delicate petals with his fingers. “It’s amazing. You did all this yourself?”

“Yeah, I make arrangements on the side, but it’s not my main job.” He watches as you carefully unload the bouquets, gently setting them on the table as you start pulling tube after tube of paint from the bottom of the box. “I mostly paint.”

“Paint? You do paintings?”

It’s a testament to the abundance of fragile beauty that fills your apartment that he barely even noticed the stack of canvases in the corner, a dust-cloth covering what he assumes to be your finished works. Koushi gravitates towards them without really thinking, his fingers pinching the corner of the cloth and hesitating as he glances over his shoulder at you. “Can I…?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” You give him a shy, crooked smile. “I’m still figuring out my style, but I was going through a kind of pastel, pinky peachy phase—” You blanch and snag a dish rag, racing back to the hallway. “I forgot about the mess!”

He should help you; really, he should. There’s too much shattered glass outside, and the puddle of sugar probably spreads from wall to wall at this point. He can’t help but hesitate, though, fighting the urge to trace his fingers along the hills and valleys of paint that cover the canvas before him. It’s like you’d carved out a piece of the sky, moulded the clouds between your fingers to will them to life.

_Impasto_. He remembers this; recalls the fervour that Van Gogh had when he described it to him, back when he’d gone by a different name, lived a different life. The unending cycle of rebirth and reincarnation has left him adrift, left him a little lost, if he’s being honest. It’s overwhelming sometimes looking back at a face he hardly remembers was his, staring at a statue that possesses a beauty that no longer belongs to him. Maybe that’s why he’s always had a soft spot for impressionism and the way it hints at the transient beauty of a fleeting moment, of a time and a place that’s long since gone. The way it gently suggests viewing something from a distance to see it as a whole; the way it fills him with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, of memories of places this version of him has never been, of conversations with people he’s had in another life. The way it reminds him of himself, a soft impression of what he represents, rather than a clear image of who he is. 

He tears his eyes away from the soft blend of blues and orange swept into the shapes of clouds, and grabs a handful paper towels to join you. Your rag is soaked through by the time he crouches beside you, a pile of glass on the dustpan, and a sorry puddle of syrup all that remains of your mishap.

“I really am sorry—”

“It’s really okay.” When all you do is bite your lip, he playfully narrows his eyes at you. “ _Really_.”

“Can I at least pay for—”

“I’m being serious!” He gently chops your head, grinning at the wide-eyed way you look at him. “I’ve got more than I need. Actually, you want one?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“It’s the least I can do for a neighbour.”

“Really, it’s fine I just moved in last week—”

“Then it’s a welcome gift.” He swipes the dustpan from your fumbling fingers, covers the glass in the mess of sticky paper towels.

“At least let me give you something back!” you protest, scrambling to your feet, ignoring the syrup the slips between your fingers when he opens his mouth to speak. “I insist! I can give you a…a painting, or some flowers, or—I mean, whatever you want, really.”

Koushi can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he takes in how earnestly you’re looking at him, completely oblivious to the syrup dripping onto the floor. He thinks back to the clouds, thinks back to the warm summer sun in your apartment, the smell of spiced peaches tickling his nose. “A painting would be great.”

You devour the syrup in two weeks.

He’s almost a little impressed by your dedication when he stops by, furrowing his brow at the familiar jar that now houses your paintbrushes, smiling and laughing when you sheepishly admit to almost guzzling it down straight from the jar. It becomes a routine of sorts, if it can be called that, his sporadic visits that can last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, that can contain just a simple _hi how are you_ or a full evening of him regaling you with stories, carefully disguising them as passing interests rather than faded memories. He’s playing a dangerous game and he knows this, knows he shouldn’t be offering the bits and pieces of his life so freely, but there’s something about the way you look at him, about the way you drink up the sound of his voice and ask for more that leaves him eager to share.

Today Koushi is sandwiched between your couch and your coffee table, a paint-stained sheet draped across his thighs as he carefully dusts the edges of the dried roses with the barest hint of gold paint. You’re working beside him, drawing thin, delicate lines along the pressed hydrangeas and daisies, and setting them to the side with a careful hand. At some point he forgets what he’s doing, just watching the even strokes of gold and silver that flow from your fingers, glinting in the light with a glimmer that reminds him of his arrows.

The painting you promised him sits in the corner, covered until you’re finished, although he’s always itching to pull the sheet off. You’ve remained tight-lipped about it, offering him nothing more then the barest quirk of your lips and a hushed, “It’s a secret” whenever he asks, sometimes shrieking it in glee as you tug at his arm when he darts towards it, mischief in his eyes as his fingers brush the corners.

He wonders sometimes how you see him, how you perceive him. How the impression of him in your life will translate to colour and canvas, what it will bloom into. He’s rattled off a number of guesses, ranging from plants to objects, abstract to concrete ideas, gently poking and prodding to see if you’ll give in, but you refuse to budge, and he can’t tell if the thrill it gives him is anxious or excited. There’s a part of him, a small, small part of him that almost wishes it’ll never be done, that worries and wonders if maybe he’d rather not know what you think of when you think of him, what you see when you look at him.

No. He wrinkles his nose, shakes the thoughts from his mind. You’ve been nothing but kind, nothing but open and wonderful, leaving him a little breathless every single time he sees you. As for the painting…even though he knows it’s meant to be a gift, meant to be repayment for the countless jars of peach syrup you’ve scurried away, meant to be a gesture between…well, _friends_ – surely you must also think you’re friends by now – he can’t help but want to give you more. More than syrup, more than conversation, more than helping gild dried roses and pressing petals between the pages of your books.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum in response, picking up the flower by its delicate stem, slowly twirling it as you eye it.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

The snapping stem ricochets like a gunshot as you fumble, your paintbrush clattering to the sheet with a brilliant splatter. “What?”

Koushi carefully sets the rose in the vase and rests his elbows on table, neatly avoiding the droplets of paint as he props his head in his hand. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“I—No?” You scratch at the side of your nose, ducking your head a little as you look at him, and he can’t help the way his smile grows wider, makes his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” He leans forward a little more, the sheet rippling from his body, catching sunlight along its edges. “Are you interested in anyone?”

You blink so cutely, he thinks, fumbling for your words as breathless, nervous little giggles spill from your lips. “I mean I’m—I’m talking to a few people, I guess? But they’re nothing serious.”

“Hmmm.” Koushi mulls your words over, pursing his lips as his other hand taps at the table. There’s a little squirm of something wretched beneath his ribs.

You set the sorry flower down, your fingers resting a scant distance away from his as you smooth out the cloth beneath him. “Why are you—”

His phone chimes, some silly little tune he’s more than familiar with as he smiles, digging it out from his pocket. “Daichi!”

“Suga? Where are you? I’m outside your door—"

“Whoops, sorry, sorry.” He clambers to his feet, his socks sliding a little along the hardwood floor as he darts to your door. “Lost track of time.” He swings it open, hanging up with a flick of his fingers as he salutes his friend. “Yo!”

Daichi sighs, amused and exasperated all at once as he pockets his phone. “We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I know.” Suga glances over his shoulder, beckoning you over with a flap of his hand, curling his slender fingers along your shoulder as he pulls you forward. “Daichi doesn’t bite; I promise. Come say hi!”

Undaunted by the look his oldest friend gives him, Suga smiles toothily as he nudges you into introducing yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you—” Daichi trails off as he catches sight of the picture in your hall, a vibrant bouquet of lavender and blue, the twilight sky captured in the graceful layers of the roses you’d painted. His eyes linger on the corner, widening imperceptibly as he leans forward a little more, hardly daring to cross the threshold. “This is…”

Koushi grins and wraps an arm around your shoulders, jostling you up against his side as he beams from ear to ear. “She has some nice work, huh?”

Daichi’s eyes whip towards you, his eyebrows rising. “You painted this?”

“Yes?” You fidget a little, eyeing your work. “Is it not…does it not…”

“No, that’s not it I just, uh—” Daichi clears his throat, composes himself, and gives you a smile that settles your nerves and warms you from the inside out, his face lighting up when you return it. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Something about that simple statement makes Koushi’s stomach curl, a flutter of nervous energy that zaps across his skin as he nods impatiently and not-so-gently ushers Daichi out of your doorway, shoving his feet into his shoes as he shuffles across the landing. “What happened to us being late, huh?”

Daichi laughs, twisting to look back at you, only half-apologetic as he bids you goodbye, fully amused as he says, “We’re having a party in a few weeks. You’re more than welcome to come.”

Koushi pauses in his mission to push Daichi down the stairs, feeling like he’s swallowed a thousand butterflies as he adds on, “Only if you want to.”

“I’d love to.”

You smile and the butterflies multiply and for a moment Suga thinks he’s floating on air, thinks he forgot himself and his wings have burst from his back in a flurry of soft, white feathers as he flushes red all along his ears. It makes up his mind for him, has him nodding decisively as he smiles. He’s never been surer of himself; never been so determined, so _invested_ in someone else’s happiness before. He manages to keep his budding plan to himself for all of two blocks, practically bouncing on his feet as he nudges Daichi with his elbow.

“I’m going to find someone for her.”

“You are?”

“Why not?” He can’t quite place the expression on Daichi’s face, but it makes his enthusiasm wane, makes that awful prickling in his chest a little harder to ignore. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Daichi smiles in away that hints at amusement, that hints at fond exasperation, that hints at something Koushi imagines can’t be anything but an unspoken challenge as he shakes his head and says, “Good luck.”

“I don’t need it.” Suga’s confidence drapes across his shoulders, making him stand a little taller, speak a little surer as he promises Daichi, promises himself, and promises you, “I’ll find her someone in no time.”

“I haven’t found a single person for her.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody.”

“Why not?”

“Why—” Koushi lifts his head and then lolls it backwards again as he heaves a long, tired sigh. “If I knew the answer, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Daichi hums as he pours himself a glass of water, ice clinking gently against the side. “Didn’t you say she had a couple dates?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Koushi snorts and flops further down onto his couch, staring up at his ceiling. “No.”

“No?” There’s a pause as Daichi takes a seat, talking a long, slow drink. “Suga?”

“They just weren’t—” Koushi lifts an open hand, pushes and pulls at the air, watches sunlight dance across his palm as he struggles to find the words. “She needs someone who’s _right_ for her. Who works well with her… _her_ -ness. She’s too…too…”

“Too what?”

“Too nice for any of them. No, that’s not it.” Koushi sighs and lets his hand flop down, his eyes sliding shut as his brow furrows. “She’s kind. Dedicated. She has this warmth that just makes me…”

You make him feel like he’s floating on air, like you’ve placed him in one of your paintings. Like he’s walking on the clouds, watching the delicate shadows of purple and blue pass beneath him, edged in cream and gold.

It’s something about the way your eyes glimmer when you smile at him, the way you carefully show him how to gild your flowers, the way you look with paint speckled along your hands as you glide your palette knife along the surface of a fresh canvas, leaving a brilliant streak of colour that rises and falls along with your every breath.

“She deserves someone special.” He can feel the frown that tugs at his lips, but he can’t be bothered to shake it off. There’s a frustration that coils inside him, that sits heavy and uncomfortable inside his throat when he tries to imagine you with someone else, and he can’t, for the life of him, figure out why.

Daichi smiles, bracing his elbows on his knees. “…are you sure you don’t have anyone in mind?”

Koushi rolls his head forward, squinting at his oldest friend. “Are you being annoying on purpose?”

“I think the answer’s closer than you think.”

“Really?” Koushi jolts upright, eager. “Who? Tell me!”

There’s a pause, then Daichi masks a snort as a cough. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Daichi.”

“Suga?”

Another pause. Daichi takes a long slurp of his water, the sound rattling and echoing through Suga’s brain as he narrows his eyes.

“ _Zephyrus_.”

“Eros.” Daichi chuckles, low and amused. “It’ll be better when you figure it out for yourself.”

Koushi groans and melts back into his couch. “Boooooo.”

There’s another slurp. “Boo yourself.”

Koushi cracks open an eye, crossing his arms. “Keep it up and I’ll make you fall in love with a volleyball or something—”

“Eros.” Daichi’s smile is genuine as he sets down his glass. “It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.”

Believing that is easier said than done. Days pass with nothing to show but Daichi’s cryptic words and stifled laughter. Mutinously, Suga considers meddling in his friend’s love life, but the god of the west wind is careful, keeping Eros in the corner of his eye. Even the rest of their friends can do little to lift his mood, the upbeat music and overlapping chatter feeble distractions.

He watches you as you move through the party, letting Hinata drag you from group to group, letting Bokuto fill your glass. It soothes his ire slightly to see you getting along with his friends, letting Alisa marvel at your dress, listening to Takeda’s quiet advice, nodding along to whatever current fixation Akaashi’s been reading about. Even the twins barely phase you, Atsumu gleaming golden in the light, Osamu shining silver in the shade, bickering back and forth on either side of you as you laugh along, piping up every once in a while, just to urge them on.

The longer he watches you the stranger he feels, until he has to turn away, propping his elbows on the ledge to stare down at the street below. The whole situation is frustrating, to say the least; it doesn’t taste like failure just _yet_ , but it skirts closer every day. He knows, more than anyone, the virtue of patience, the necessity of timing particularly when it comes to love. There’s an urgency that nibbles at him, though, that jitters in his chest whenever he sees you, that grows stronger when you wear that same, sweet smile you always seem to have for him, when you say his name, little bells that chime _Kou-shi_.

You deserve to be happy, to be loved, and it pains him and his pride that he hasn’t been able to give that to you yet. He wrinkles his nose as he watches a couple walk down the street, uncharacteristically annoyed by the sight of them giggling and holding each other’s hands.

“Show offs,” Koushi grumbles, resting his head in his hand. He perks up at the sight of two men walking towards each other, one engrossed in their phone, the other walking a dog, and he grins, mischief glimmering in his eyes as he eyes the slack leash that trails along the sidewalk, wondering how sweet it would be to wind them together in a tangle of jostling limbs and blushing cheeks. He taps his finger to his lips and pulls the arrow from his lungs, shimmering to life above his hand as he aims—

“What’re you doing over here?”

Koushi jumps and for a heart-stopping moment he feels the edge of his arrow graze along his wrist as it tumbles from his hand, slipping down his chest before he can will it away.

“Sorry!” You hide your smile behind your drink, taking a small sip. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I’m…good,” he says, sounding winded as he clutches at the front of his shirt and watches you watch him, as he realizes with a start that the sun has woven ribbons of light through your hair, as he figures out that the tantalizingly sweet scent he’s been smelling all day has been coming from you. He keeps waiting and waiting for his heart to settle but it refuses, pounding hard up against his ribs, stuttering a beat when you take a half a step closer.

“I actually wanted to ask you something.” You look nervous; why do you look nervous? Why do you keep getting closer? “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? Get a…a coffee or something? Kinda like a date?”

…a date?

You laugh a little. “Or just… _a_ date. You know.”

A _date?_

Your forehead creases with worry at his expression, whatever it may be, because he can’t really find it in himself to figure out what his mouth is doing besides flapping open and closed uselessly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Oh gods, he can’t look at you for long; his mouth is dry and he feels like he might just float away and he can’t figure out _why—_

He freezes.

“Koushi?”

Your voice is sweet as always, but it echoes in his ears as he does his best to carefully inhale then exhale, fixing an easy smile on his face. “I’m good, just remembered I have to ah…go do…something.”

He quickly strides away before you can reply, frantically searching the rooftop, ignoring the calls of his friends as he darts through the door and down the steps, banging open the door to Daichi’s apartment with panic in his eyes. Daichi’s mouth opens, brow furrowed at the stricken expression on Suga’s face, but Koushi beats him to it as he chokes out,

“I think one of my arrows got me.”

“What—”

“I think—” he stumbles in, bouncing off the wall as he struggles to pull his shirt off, face caught in the collar, “—one of my arrows got me.”

Daichi’s mouth wobbles like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “What uh…what makes you think that?”

“I felt it.” Suga’s hair is sticking up every which way, but he finds himself hard-pressed to care as he tosses his shirt haphazardly on the counter, trailing his hands over his chest, eyeing the freckles and moles scattered across his skin as he looks for the telltale pattern of blooming roses, spreading from the arrow wound he can’t seem to find. “I was holding one and then she startled me and I _dropped_ it and then I felt all weird—”

“Uh-huh.” Daichi is actively biting the inside of his cheek, pressing his lips together as he holds a fist to his mouth. “Weird how?”

“You know; how mortals feel when they…” Suga pauses, flushing imperceptibly as he gestures, “ _you know_.”

Daichi can’t help himself; he has to brace a hand on the counter from how hard he’s laughing, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as Koushi looks on, scandalized.

“This is _serious_.” His indignation does nothing to stem Daichi’s amusement. “ _Zephyrus_.”

“Eros.” Daichi’s chuckles peter out. “Put your clothes back on before somebody gets the wrong idea.”

Koushi grabs Daichi by the collar of his shirt and _yanks_ him forward, pointing emphatically at his bare chest.

“Not until you take a look!” The bottles on the counter shake and tinkle as they yelp and scuffle, both arguing, both laughing, both with varying degrees of worry about two entirely different things.

“Oh!”

They freeze and both peek towards the door, Daichi barely suppressing a snort, Koushi flushing a bright pink at the sight of you standing there, a hand braced on the doorframe. He knows what they must look like; knows that the sight of his hands twisted in the back of Daichi’s shirt, his friend’s face pressed to his abdomen is incriminating in more ways than one, but he can’t seem to find the words to explain away his current predicament. Not when the mere sight of you makes his heart start pounding again, makes his hands sweaty and shaky as he holds onto Daichi a little longer.

“Sorry, I just came to check up on you; you seemed a little…I’ll go back upstairs.” You bob your head a little awkwardly, gesturing needlessly behind you as Daichi deftly untangles himself from Koushi’s grip, smacking a firm hand onto his friend’s back.

“No, it’s all good. I was heading back up there anyway, but I think Suga needed something, so…” He squeezes past you and gently pushes you further into his apartment as you open and close your mouth, squeaking out a protest he conveniently chooses not to hear. “Maybe you can help him out.”

When the door clicks shut behind him, he allows himself a handful of precious seconds to laugh, shaking his head as he jogs back towards the stairs.

Inside Daichi’s apartment the sounds from the street float in through the window: the rumble of cars driving past, the yells of children playing, the occasional dog barking. It fills the stretched silence between the two of you, gives Koushi something else to focus on other than the fact that you still haven’t really managed to look him in the eye. His stomach still feels like it’s doing flips, his hearts is still hummingbird fast, but he can’t deny the shiver that tickles down his spine when he notices you peeking at his bare chest from beneath your lashes.

You break the silence first. “Koushi?”

It takes him a moment before it clicks, to move past the way his name sounds so lovely coming from you, and even then, his mind remains stubbornly blank as he tries to struggle through the garden of roses he feels blooming in his lungs. He looks down at himself once more, just to be sure, brain addled as he tries to piece everything together, all while you wait, patient as always, maybe a touch more embarrassed than usual as he opens and closes his mouth.

Because how, exactly, is he supposed to tell you he thinks he’s in love with you?

…maybe he could just say that. Yeah, _yeah_ maybe he could just say _that_ —

“I’m sorry about earlier.” “I think I’m in love with you.”

There’s a pause as you both try to pick out what the other person said.

“You’re what?”

…maybe he shouldn’t have just said that.

But you’re not turning away, you’re not leaving, you’re not babbling excuses; you’re just watching him quietly, hopefully, biting the inside of your cheek the way you always do when you’re trying not to smile.

He presses his lips shut, forces away the heat prickling along his cheeks as he steps forward and grazes the tips of your fingers with his own as he smiles. Inhales. Feels like he’s finally breathing fresh air for the first time in far too long.

“I mean…I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Slowly, you let him twine his hand in yours, giving him such a tender smile, he feels like he might shatter into a thousand pieces. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh good.” You let him tug you a little closer. “Koushi?”

“Hm?”

He feels your hand flutter along his shoulder, warm tingles running down his arm.

“You’re still shirtless.”

He pauses. Rests his forehead against yours. “You wanna match me?”

You sputter and he laughs, pulling you flush against him as you squeak and let him muffle your indignance with the soft touch of his lips on yours. Distantly, Koushi feels the haze inside him clear, feels the emptiness dissipate, like morning dew evaporating beneath the rising sun as he tastes you and you taste him, the sweet flavour of peaches lingering on your tongue.

Later, when the sun has set, when you’re dozing in his arms, Daichi sits beside him.

“You finally figured it out.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Mm. …she made the first move, huh?”

“...”

“So much for being the god of love and romance.”

You knock on his door towards the end of summer, bouncing on your feet, grinning from ear to ear as you lean forward and tell him, “It’s done.”

He stares at you, and you grab his hand to tug him out the door. “The painting! It’s done!”

Oh, he knows what you meant, and he can’t help the worry that seeps into his bones, the anxious river coursing through his body as he wonders what you’ve made him.

“No peeking!”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Koushi says with a tense grin, letting you slowly shuffle him through your apartment, your hands clamped tight over his eyes. Carefully you bring the two of you to a halt, your breath brushing along the back his neck as you ask,

“Are you ready?”

“Mmhm.” When you hesitate, he sneaks a hand behind him to pinch at your hip, more so to ease his nerves than yours. “Come on, let me see this masterpiece already!”

It takes him a moment to blink the blurriness away, takes him another second to remember how to breathe again, takes him a little longer to find the words to say as he reaches out for the painting, hesitating as he looks at you. “Can I?”

“Of course! Just be careful,” you tell him, as if he could be anything but.

There, amidst the soft sweep of brushstrokes, nestled in the middle of the clouds that sweep across the canvas from side to side, is him. His face is brilliant, alight with an ethereal glow, the softest shade of peach, the stormy grey of rainclouds, and a warm hazel that glitters with flecks of gold shining bright above the pale lilac and honey yellow of the sky at sunrise, the barest touch of orange along the edge of each soft sun-soaked cloud. He’s smiling, vulnerable, beautiful, the ever-present flicker of mischief tucked inside the corner of his lips and he thinks to himself if this is how you see him, he never wants to look any other way.

“I’m shirtless,” is what he blurts out instead.

“ _Koushi_.”

There’s too much he wants to say, too much that vies for his attention as he flits his eyes from corner to corner, and then his heart flutters, his smile turning to one of wonder as he catches sight of—

“What is this?”

You peek around him and grin, moving to stand beside him.

“It’s my pseudonym. I’m surprised you never noticed it before!” You lean against him, cup your hand around his. “What do you think? Too cheesy?”

Koushi stares at the careful deep blue lettering, tucked neatly on the corner of the canvas, the barest glimmer of the ocean curling through the golden sky. He lovingly traces each swoop and curve of _psyche_ with his eyes, filled with overwhelming exhilaration as Daichi’s voice echoes in his ear.

_“It’ll be better when you figure it out for yourself.”_

“No.” He wraps you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Zephyrus is the god that brings Psyche to Eros in the original myth, which you can read [here](https://href.li/?https://www.greeka.com/greece-myths/eros-psyche/). 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr [@chicoree](https://chicoree.tumblr.com)


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